


Thy Kingdom Come

by cinnappo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnappo/pseuds/cinnappo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our Father who art in Heaven,<br/>hallowed be Thy name.<br/>Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done<br/>on Earth as it is in Heaven.<br/>Lead us not into temptation<br/>but deliver us from evil.<br/>(Or, where Marco finds what's left of Jean after Trost.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://jeanmarco-headcanons.tumblr.com/post/83281806690/soidosomeblogging-yah-au-where-marco-is-alive). Title and summary from the Lord's Prayer, because I have a headcannon that Marco prays a lot even if he's not really that religious. Also, Jean's name means "blessed by God." Which he is not. My first foray into the AOT fandom.

  
With every body he found, Marco sent up a little prayer of thanks that he made it out of the hell that was Trost alive, and another one for the departed soul. Of course, his face might have been permanently tinged a shade of green, and his stomach constantly churned at the stench of death, and his hands hadn't stopped shaking since the wall first was breached. But he was alive, and he was thankful. 

It was dirty work, clean up. But they had to get all of the bodies, or what was left of them, rounded up and burned before a sickness swept down between the buildings. It wouldn't do to have the citizens return only to fall to plague. Marco knew this, but it didn't make it any easier. His limbs ached with exhaustion and his mind raced. He hadn't seen anyone from his squad since the retreat had been issued.

He didn't know whether to be reassured by that, or frightened.

"Cadet! Pick up the pace, we don't have time to spare!" 

Marco took a steady breath. "Understood, sir!" He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, tied the handkerchief a little tighter around his face, and rounded the next corner. Three bodies on this street, two garrison huddled in a heap and a recruit propped up against what was left of a building. Ice ran through Marco's veins — the recruit's head was missing from the chin up. Just _gone_. 

Murmurs behind him told Marco other soldiers had started taking care of the two garrison corpses, so he carefully made his way over to the dead cadet. A male, Marco could tell, one about his own height. But with no face it would be hard-pressed to identify him, though tears burned his eyes. To think that this was someone he had spent the last three years with… 

"I'm sorry," Marco murmured. He choked back the tears and slipped an arm under either shoulder to slide the cadet's body to lay him out flat on the ground. One of his hands brushed over the cadet's breast pocket, and Marco startled when he heard a rustling from it. He blinked in confusion, before reaching into the pocket. 

A crumpled piece of paper, stained with blood. A sudden, inexplicable rush of dread settled in the pit of Marco's chest as he unraveled the paper. A heartbeat passed, two, three, before it hit him that he was staring at a sketchy, hand-drawn portrait of himself. 

Another heartbeat before Marco realized what that meant. 

His eyes widened, and he stared between the headless corpse and the paper. "Jean…" 

_"What are you drawing?"_

_Jean leapt about a foot in the air, hands scrambling to cover the paper. "N-nothing," he muttered. Marco hummed in curiousity._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"He's probably drawing you," Connie said through a mouthful of grits. "He's drawn all of us, pretty much, I see him trying to be all covert in the bunks. Stress relief, right?"_

_"Can it, Connie," said Jean. The blush on his face gave him away. Marco smiled brightly._

_"It's nothing to be embarrassed by! I'll bet you're really good!"_

_From the table across the hall, Eren snorted. "He's probably horrid. That's why he's never let anyone see them." Mikasa knocked him on the back of the head, and Armin murmured something about being nice. Jean just scowled, glaring a hole in the table._

_Marco couldn't help the fond expression that crossed his face. "Come on, Jean. Let me see it?" Jean said nothing for a long moment. Before Marco could press him further the bell chimed to let them know their breakfast was up and their duties awaited. Jean quickly crumpled the paper up and shoved it into his breast pocket as he stood. Marco whined, following after him._

_"…I'll show you when it's finished, okay?" Jean said, finally. Marco grinned, placated. "Now let's get out of here before they put us on fixed cannon duties with Jaeger and the other idiots of squad 34."_

Suddenly he was retching, and he only made it back around the corner before the bile he'd barely kept at bay for the last two days finally overtook him. The other soldiers looked up at him in alarm, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He gripped the drawing in his hand so tight his knuckles were white, and tears streamed unbidden down his face. 

Why him? Why Jean, of all people? He'd survived his gear breaking down, literally escaped a Titan's clutches. How had this happened? Jean was a leader, Marco had told him so. He was supposed to _survive_. Don't all leaders live to see tomorrow?

He became aware of a presence behind him, and when he finally stopped dry heaving Marco straightened, wiping the vomit from his lips. He didn't bother with the tears — those wouldn't stop coming. A nurse with a clipboard stood, eyeing him impatiently. "Are you done?" she said brusquely. Marco said nothing, did nothing, but the nurse took it as an affirmative. "His name?" 

"104th Trainee Division, ranked sixth of the graduates… Jean Kirstein." 

The scratch of a pen on paper rang in Marco's ears. "Good. Thank you, cadet. Carry on." The nurse moved away, but Marco couldn't find the strength to make his legs move to follow her. He watched miserably as the other soldiers picked up where he left off, lifting Jean's body on a stretcher and covering him with a burlap sack to haul him away. Even after Jean was long gone, bound for the funeral pyres, Marco stared at the empty spot on the ground. 

After what seemed an age, Marco finally made his legs stop quivering long enough to get back to work. He walked back over to where Jean had died, and murmured a few words, before moving slowly down to the next road. He was still murmuring as he walked away. 

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…"  



End file.
